


Someone To Watch Over Me

by Medie



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-30
Updated: 2010-03-30
Packaged: 2017-10-08 13:00:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/75889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Medie/pseuds/Medie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You're too important to lose, Deanna. Haven't you learned that by now?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Someone To Watch Over Me

**Author's Note:**

> written for [](http://noveltea.livejournal.com/profile)[**noveltea**](http://noveltea.livejournal.com/) for my advent meme. this would be drabble one.

She wakes up to see him standing in the corner. Great. With a groggy glare, she throws arm across her face. "Fu--" She cuts off before she can say the full word. She's not sure why, but she still can't swear in front of him. It's stupid, but yeah, when she does, she just _flinches_. Like there's some kind of celestial score card, and every four letter slip is another notch in the wrong category.

Damn angels.

Behind the shield of her arm, Deanna winces. She should probably ask if angels can read minds. She's pretty sure, not, but still. If she's going to walk around thinking about the things she's been thinking about? She should be sure. There's stuff this guy really shouldn't hear.

Not that it matters. The Big Guy knows anyway, right? Not that He's big on sharing, so whatever. What the angel doesn't know, can't corrupt him or shit like that.

"You know, there's a kid's book that starts out just like this. Or so I hear." Peering out from beneath her arm, she squints at him. He's shifted, standing just a little closer to the window, back lit by the bright morning sun. Bastard. He has to be doing that on purpose. "Close the curtains."

It's too damn early for him to be rocking a halo, even if it is a fake.

"You're hungover." Castiel doesn't cluck his tongue, but he wants to. She can feel the disapproval coming off of him and grins, stretching lazily.

"Maybe a little." She announces with more satisfaction than she really feels. It's wrong, jerking an angel's chain, but it's like an itch and she's not big on self-denial.

Castiel sighs, but still turns around to pulling them shut. Cool darkness enshrouds the room and she realizes that Sam's not here. The other bed is neatly made, his laptop sitting in the middle of it.

Deanna scowls, not wanting to think about where he is. When she does, knowing who he's with, she starts wanting to break a promise or two. "It's just a thing. Sometimes a girl's gotta cut loose."

He steps closer, his expression solemn. He's still wearing the suit and rumpled coat. Her fingers itch to tug at the tie, but she doesn't trust herself. She's not sure what she'd do if she did. "You shouldn't take that kind of risk."

"Why not?" Deanna rolls onto her side, bare legs sprawled casually across the white sheets. Castiel's eyes fix solidly on her face. She lies there, enjoying the hell out of his discomfort for a few minutes before deciding to take pity. She tugs a sheet across them, making an attempt at modesty. She's not trying all that hard, but hey, she's not _that_ nice. "It's not like either side gives a damn at the moment anyway. I'm expendable right? Least, that's the impression I got"

"You misunderstand." Castiel looks pained. "You're too important to lose, Deanna. Haven't you learned that by now?"

She almost tells the truth. It's on the tip of her tongue to ask why they hauled her ass out hell, but left her father there. She closes her eyes, sees his face, hears the screaming, and forces a sunny smile. "I'm working on it. Correspondence course, but it's boring as h--"

Sitting up, she shakes her head. "Never mind. So, other than going all teen angst on me, what's wrong this time? Need me to give Sammy another pep talk from on high? Leave the demon girls alone and find a nice, flame-retardant, human girl to play with?" She almost winces at the sharp edge of bitterness on the words, but she's not in the mood to feel guilty.

He might've hauled her ass out of hell, but it's not been much of an improvement. Which pisses her off. She can still remember the blades pulling through her skin, pushing them through other people, listening to her own screams and the screams of her victims. If Hell's _hell_, then shouldn't the other side be better?

She wants to ask him, wants to demand some kind of explanation, but she knows better. Even if there is one, it ain't like Daddy's going to let him tell her.

Castiel sighs again. It's bone-deep weary and she kinds of feels sorry. Poor guy. She should apologize to whoever owns that body, with the grief she's giving his house guest, he's gonna wake up with a world of new wrinkles.

Assuming he wakes up at all. It's another one of those questions she doesn't want to ask. She's got innocent blood on her hands, but killing the host of an angel? That's probably a whole new level of hell right there. Something tells her, even if she gets Sammy across the heavenly goal line, she's not going to be following him.

Deanna gets out of bed, forgetting about modesty. She glances down at her Donald Duck underwear and shrugs. Not exactly her Sunday best, not that she cares, but she offers a half-hearted "Sorry." anyway.

He surprises her, reaching out to touch her lip. It's split. A souvenir from Alastair and the fight to save Anna. She flinches, taking a step back before she can stop herself.

Castiel actually looks wounded, his hand hanging there as he waits. "Please?"

She hesitates, but nods and goes still, waiting for the touch of his fingers again. Her stomach twists, nerves fluttering as he moves closer. This is so many levels of _wrong_, the way her body responds to his proximity. She watches the way his eyes focus on her mouth and tries not to squirm, ignoring the way she's getting wet.

She's always had shit taste in men, but this is taking it to a whole fucking level of bad. She closes her eyes, not wanting to see the look in his eyes. She sees it, she'll try and figure it out.

"You have to be careful," Castiel murmurs. His fingers are warm, human warm, against her lip and she swallows hard. She didn't expect that. He feels _real_. She can smell aftershave and coffee, maybe the faint scent of nicotine. His human host's secret vices, or Castiel's experimenting with humanity, she doesn't know. She wonders what he looks like. The _real_ Castiel and wishes she could remember that moment. It's killing her that she can't picture him charging into Hell to pull her out. "I saved you once, Deanna, but I can't always intervene. Sometimes -- "

"I get myself into trouble, I have to get myself out. Yeah, I know the rules," Deanna says. "At least, I think I'm starting to. You can't stick a feather in and mess with free will, right?"

"It's not that clear cut." Castiel's voice is soft, almost affectionate, and she doesn't dare open her eyes. Forget Sam's demon bait, she's got little brother beat with this one. Lusting after an angel is a whole new level of wrong. They're probably opening a new wing in Hell just for her. Not that she cares. She's still itching to throw him down on the bed behind her. "Especially not where you are concerned."

She hates it, but when she speaks, her voice is breathless. She sounds like some fucking teenager with her first crush. "Aw, Castiel, are you starting to warm up to me?"

His borrowed fingers trace the split in her lip. It stings, but the hurt hits her veins like heroin, sending her flying. He doesn't answer the question, but she didn't expect him to. Angels don't go _there_. Not that it matters. She's got that part covered and covered _good_. With her eyes closed, it's too easy to summon the fantasy of his mouth covering hers. She's pictured it enough that it takes no effort at all anymore.

Her dreams, well, those are worth the price of admission to Hell alone.

Castiel steps closer, close enough that his tie brushes her arm and his thigh presses against hers. His fingers skim the curve of her cheek, down the line of her jaw and up to trace her mouth. Her heart pounds in her ears and she's waiting for him to kiss her, leaning into it, when he says, "Perhaps."

When she opens her eyes, he'll be gone. She's read the bible, lying to Sam aside, she does know how to research. She knows angels have crossed the line.

Hell, it's probably just what Uriel needs to loosen up a bit.

Not that she cares what the bastard wants. He's not the angel she dreams about every night, the who she wakes up reaching for. When she's in bed, one hand between her thighs , and hoping like hell Sam won't hear her when she comes.

Deanna sighs, opening her eyes to an empty room. "I am so going to hell. _Again_."


End file.
